And The Rain's Gonna Wash Away What I Believe In
by embroiderama
Summary: Dean tries to get some space, but maybe that's not what he needs.


Title: The Rain's Gonna Wash Away What I Believe In

Author: embroiderama

Characters: Dean, Sam (gen)

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Spoilers: general season 2 through CSPWDT

Word Count: 947

Disclaimer: None of the Winchesters belong to me, alas.

Summary: Dean tries to get some space, but maybe that's not what he needs.

Notes: Written for shayreynolds From the Ashes ficathon. My song was Matchbox 20's "3 AM," which is where I got the title.

Dean sat in the back seat of the Impala, legs propped up diagonally on the back of the driver's seat, closed his eyes, and listened to the rain. He could hear the drops striking the roof of the car, the hood, the trunk, and the sound defined the space around him, gave it shape, gave him the sense of holding things in and keeping things out. He wondered if this was what it was like to be blind, hearing the space around him. Wondered, if he really were blind, would he be able to hear the different pitch of drops hitting the pavement between the car and the motel room door, the patter of stray drops blown underneath the awning to strike the door itself, the silence of the room inside where Sam slept.

Even if he were blind, Dean knew he'd be able to see the space between the two of them these days. Since they'd driven away from that clearing where they'd burned the collection of scarred flesh and bone that had been their father, Dean felt his own silence and the echo of Dad's last words creating a rift between them that was going to crack the car in two one day.

So he sat, alone in the car at 3 am., trying to hold himself together because sometimes he thought that the cracking he felt was just inside him, and he couldn't afford to break open right now. His father's son, he holed up inside the car because there was nowhere else to go. He couldn't drive away, and he couldn't go inside that room. He couldn't walk away from Sam, and he couldn't bridge the gap between them either.

The TV news said this rain was falling all across the Midwest, and he imagined it soaking down into the soil in that clearing near Bobby's where they'd buried the light pile of ash and blackened bones that remained after the funeral pyre had burned to the ground. He imagined it pouring over the smooth granite of their mother's headstone, washing away their finger prints where they had traced over the engraved words, the soggy ground swallowing the impressions of their footsteps.

Maybe it would just keep raining, just like this. Forever 3 am., and with enough rain he and the car could be carried straight down into the Gulf of Mexico, and everything would be washed away. Dean felt exhaustion pushing him deeper into the seat, but the rain didn't sound tired at all, beating its constant rhythm against the steel around him.

Dean was so focused on his thoughts and the rain and the darkness behind his eyelids that he didn't hear footsteps splashing through the shallow water puddled in the parking lot, didn't realize anyone was near until the door opposite him opened with a creak. Sam climbed in, knocking Dean's legs from their perch on the back of the driver's seat and pulling the door shut behind him.

Dean shook his head to knock himself out of the daze he'd fallen into. "Jesus, Sam. What the hell you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. You testing the car for leaks or what, man?"

"You're going to get your cast wet, running around in the rain like an idiot."

Sam shook his head and murmured something that sounded like, "Must run in the family."

"What?"

"Nothing. Anyway, my jacket covers it."

"Yeah, mostly," Dean sighed, reaching over to tap lightly on the slightly-damp plaster that covered part of Sam's hand.

"Whatever." Sam tugged his sleeve down further to wipe off the cast. "Seriously, Dean, what are you doing? You've been out here half the night."

"Stop exaggerating, dude."

"No, look." Sam extracted his phone from his pocket and flipped it open, holding the display up in front of Dean. 5:45 am. "You left at 2:30--I heard the door close."

"Well, shit." Dean shrugged. "Didn't know I had to report in to my babysitter. What did you think, I was out here asphyxiating myself?"

"That's not funny." Sam frowned and looked down, his bangs falling over his eyes. "I haven't seen you in this back seat since that night. Since the paramedics pulled--" Sam paused, swallowed. "Pulled you out."

Dean had just wanted more room, space to stretch out without the steering wheel bumping into his ribs, but now he remembered this perspective--the back of Dad's head, Sam turning to look, the vague sound of their voices arguing. A shudder shook through him, and he sat up, changing the angle of his view.

"Sorry," Dean nodded. "Didn't mean to freak you out." Sam looked up, looked like he was getting ready to continue the conversation, so Dean reached over and smacked him on the shoulder. "You know you're freakishly tall for a woman."

Sam smirked and rolled his eyes. "Come on, let's go back in. We've still got that box of donuts from yesterday."

"Yeah, okay." Dean moved to open his door and head back out into the deluge, then paused and turned back to Sam. "Hey, cover your cast up better. We don't really have the cash to be replacing it just because you feel like running around in the rain."

"Actually--" Sam stopped, listened. "I think it's pretty much stopped."

Talking to Sam, Dean had stopped listening to the rhythm of the rain on the car, but now he noticed that the morning had gone quiet around them, slow drops meandering down the windows now instead of sheets of water. Sam opened his door and stepped out, and Dean slid across the seat to follow him out into the new day.


End file.
